


Sun-kissed

by ringlov



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringlov/pseuds/ringlov
Summary: There was a mirror in the Redcliffe tavern they stayed in last week, and she spent some time studying the dense sprinkle of dots that now covers her cheekbones and nose, trying to get accustomed to her changed skin. It took her a while to figure out she couldn’t wash them off. She decides she likes them.





	Sun-kissed

**Author's Note:**

> The first character exploration I wrote for my dearest darling Warden, Sava

Nothing anyone ever told her could have prepared her for The Sun.

 

It's just  _ so _ bright. It takes her eyes 3 days to fully adjust, and even then, being too long in the open gives her flashing, colourful headaches by nightfall.  _ (Nightfall! The night  _ falls _! Literally! Caridin's teeth, she'll never get used to it.) _ Duncan says to have patience, that it'll pass, that he's guided many a dwarf into surface life, and that they've all adjusted perfectly. Easy for him to say.

 

_ Ancestors, what has she got herself into. _

 

***

 

There is a mirror in the tavern they spend the night in. Duncan says it'll pass, that it's normal. _ (Why isn't his face blood-red if it's so sodding normal?!)  _ Leske would have had a blast, he’d never let her forget this.

 

Leske.

 

The cool of this metal helmet Duncan gave her helps with the ache in her skin, at least.

 

***

 

She thought the stories of surfacers’ skin burning off in the sun were just old wives’ tales, meant to scare little children.

 

The sodding salve helps.

 

***

 

The skin on her face doesn't ache anymore. She suspects it might have to do with wearing the helmet. The headaches have stopped too. Sod it. She hates helmets.

 

***

 

They run into a few sodding darkspawn, and her helmet gets blown clean off her head. She has never felt more terrified or more alive than right here right now, breathing in their putrid scent, fighting for her life.  _ (This is not the same as the Legion of the Dead,  _ she keeps repeating to herself.  _ Not the same. You will come back.) _

 

She forgets the helmet.

 

***

 

By the time they reach Ostagar, her skin aches again. She doesn't need a mirror.

 

***

 

That evening she finds a cooling salve on her bedroll, in the tent she's to share with Alistair and the other recruits. He never mentions it, but she smiles thankfully at Alistair the next day.

 

***

 

Her head is pounding like there's a bronto trying to burst out of her skull. She doesn't even remember to think of the ache in her skin. How did she get to the tent? Why is— Where—

 

It hits her.  _ They are dead. _ Daveth and Jory are  _ dead. _ They died right in front of her. Jory, the sodding nug-humper, why did he— And Daveth, he just— He just.

 

Alistair knew.  _ Duncan _ knew.  _ They knew. _ And they still— 

 

But  _ she _ woke up.  _ She _ survived. She’s a Grey Warden.

 

She lets out a broken sigh. It all makes sense now. She understands. Oh, she's pissed, you can sodding bet she's pissed – but she understands. And that pisses her off even more.  _ She really needs to hit something for a while. _

 

As soon as she can stand.

 

***

 

_ Can this sodding world stop falling apart just for a sodding moment so she can catch a sodding breath?! _

 

One moment she was beheading the largest creature she never knew existed, the sound of blood pumping through her veins drowning out Alistair’s screaming at her, and the next… Everyone is dead.  _ Everyone. _ She doesn’t understand what went wrong. The plan was so simple. But now Duncan is dead. Their king is dead. The teyrn… deserted?  _ Duncan is dead. _ And she is in a witch’s house, all bandaged up, Alistair unconscious next to her. 

 

The witch speaks, but she no longer hears her.

 

It’s all too much.

 

***

 

She can hear them. They call. They beckon. She knows their faces. It’s too hot. It’s too loud. She feels it pulling at her mind—

 

She wakes up.

 

_ This must be what going insane feels like. _

 

***

 

Alistair tries to explain  _ dreams _ . She doesn’t understand.

 

She will have to get used to them.

 

***

 

The dog finds them. Of course. Of course! Of all the things that could have happened, the dog somehow survived the darkspawn horde,  _ and _ tracked them down.

 

Alistair hates her, but she won’t leave Sava’s side, so she decides to let her stay. Sansa sounds like a good name, doesn’t it?

 

Alistair will just have to get used to her.

 

***

 

She considers cutting her hair off.

 

It’s so long, and there’s so much of it, and she doesn’t understand how Rica could tame it so easily. Yet another thing she doesn’t understand in this sodding world. She doesn’t know what to do with it.

 

In a frustrated fit, she reaches for the knife in her belt, ready to chop the sodding mane off, but then a memory surfaces: Rica’s fingers gently untangling the thick red tresses every night, then expertly braiding and arranging them in the two knots she so loved seeing on Sava. Even then it was too long for Sava’s comfort, but her sister handled it so deftly and lovingly. It was their one remaining ritual, Rica taking care of Sava’s hair.

 

She replaces the knife. She’ll just have to learn.

 

***

 

Alistair may have been right. The elf annoys her to no end. But what was she supposed to do, leave him to die?

 

Leliana understands, at least. He’s skillful, they need him. There’s no room for grudges in this sodding mess of a world.  _ A grudge over attempted assassination is perfectly justified _ , Alistair keeps telling her, but she can’t. She knows what it’s like when your life belongs to someone else – Beraht made sure of it. So she’s giving the poor sod a second chance, like she hopes she’d get if she were still in Dust Town. Like she hopes Leske would get. Like she hopes Leske will never need.

 

But she swears, if he tries to woo her one more time...

 

***

 

Her dreams are nothing like what Alistair describes. They are always deafening and blazing hot. He says he has those too. He says they will only get worse.

 

She wishes she could dream about Rica.

 

She hugs Sansa a little tighter and tries to fall back to sleep.

 

***

 

Her skin seems to have settled on a shade that doesn’t hurt her. At sodding last.

 

There was a mirror in the Redcliffe tavern they stayed in last week, and she spent some time studying the dense sprinkle of dots that now covers her cheekbones and nose, trying to get accustomed to her changed skin. It took her a while to figure out she couldn’t wash them off. She decides she likes them.

 

Sun-kissed, Zevran calls her in passing.

 

Oh.  _ Oh no.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ringlovdraws)? ♥


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